


an easy mistake to make

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), borderlands: the pre-sequel
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Sex for Money, consensual voyeurism, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Sex sells; everyone knows that. Jack just wants to know who talked Timothy into this. (And how much Jack has to offer for a repeat performance.)





	an easy mistake to make

Jack glares blearily at the screen, flipping through the channels on the ECHO-cast in the hopes of finding something that will either put him to sleep or pass the time until he can reasonably head back to his office. Insomnia is a bitch, but heavy lies the head and all that. Unfortunately he appears to be shit out of luck - boring movie, dumb documentary, porn he’s already seen, infomercial, infomercial, info- wait. Jack pauses, and flips back one channel.

Okay. That _is_ what he thought he saw.

The camera pans lovingly over Timothy’s face - and that _is_ Tim, Jack knows all of his body doubles on sight, even if he purposefully misremembers their names - as he gasps in pleasure, fingers clenched on the edge of the beautiful dark wood dresser he’s bent over. He’s getting pounded from behind, body shaking with each thrust, but the dresser doesn’t move an inch. 

That’s some solid construction, Jack notes absently, caught by the way Tim’s mouth falls open and his eyes screw shut. Maybe he should look into replacing his own bedroom furniture.

The camera pans away from Tim’s face, over the taut line of his back, toward broad hands gripping his hips and what the _fuck_ , that’s _Wilhelm_ , why are two of his best employees fucking on late night television and _why didn’t Jack know about it_.

Wait. Tim _had_ said something about taking side jobs, but Jack had thought he meant _bounty hunting_ , not _starring in pornographic commercials_. 

It’s. Quite the picture, though. Jack shifts his legs a little wider on the couch as the camera slowly pans up Wilhelm’s bared chest. It’s funny; Jack has always appreciated Wilhelm’s bulk - good for breaking down doors or tearing off bandit limbs - but he’s never _appreciated_ it quite like this, with Wilhem’s scarred chest bared to the eye and his biceps flexing as he holds Tim still. He’s really. _Very_ muscled. Jack palms his dick absently through his boxers, then with more interest as Wilhelm grunts, fucking into Timothy with a snap of his hips that makes Tim moan.

And _Timothy_. Jack’s never thought much about what he himself looks like during sex, let alone what he’d look like getting fucked - but he must look pretty good because Tim looks like a goddamn wet dream come to life, lips red and shiny and arms shaking as he tries to brace himself against Wilhelm’s thrusts. Tim bites his lip and opens his eyes, looking directly at the camera and Jack inhales sharply, shoving his boxers down with one hand and licking a broad stripe over the palm of the other. Jack wraps his hand around himself and groans as he starts to stroke, drinking in Tim’s glazed eyes and goofy smile. 

He’s never - Jack rolls his hips a little, getting into it - he’d never thought he’d be into _watching_ more than _doing_ , but who is Jack to argue with his boner. And anyway there’s something about the way Tim and Wilhelm fit together that’s - that’s _beautiful_ , if he’s going to be a goddamn sap about it. Wilhelm plants one big hand on the small of Tim’s back and really goes for it, Tim’s body shaking with every thrust, and Jack bites his own lip _hard_ at the sound of Tim’s whimpers. The announcer is saying something about the dresser’s durability, and the camera pans down to show it seated firmly on the floor despite Wilhelm’s best efforts. This is the wildest marketing campaign Jack’s ever seen but he can’t deny its effectiveness as the camera moves back up, pausing significantly on the flex of Wilhelm’s thighs. 

Jack groans, other hand moving to cradle his balls, and he can feel the familiar tightening in his gut that means he’s close. He plants his feel wide and speeds up, stroking in time with Wilhelm’s thrusts. On screen Timothy’s body goes taut and he lifts up on his toes, turning his face away as he comes, and as the tension in Jack’s gut snaps he spills all over himself wishing he could see Tim’s face. 

Jack leans back against the couch to catch his breath, limbs suddenly heavy and only half-listening as the announcer rattles something about about easy-to-clean surfaces. He wipes half-heartedly at the come cooling on his chest and stomach, then kicks his boxers the rest of the way off and uses them to wipe up the mess. He feels more relaxed than he has in weeks, and on his way to the shower he sets the ECHO-box to record the rest of the broadcast.

He might be able to sleep now; and if he’s really lucky he’ll dream about an encore performance.

* * *

 

Jack thinks about it for three days and watches the recording twice more before he calls.

He starts with Timothy. “You know you’re my favorite Jack, right?” he says when Tim picks up. “No one wears that face better. Except for me, of course.”

“What do you want, Jack?” Tim sounds like he’s bracing himself, and Jack swings around in his office chair, kicking his feet up and taking in the cracked expanse of Elpis.

“I want a lot of things, sweetheart.” Jack folds his hands at Tim’s impatient noise. “But today I want to know who has the kind of cash that would get you and Wilhelm doing the late-night special on the ECHO-cast. If you know what I mean.” Jack gives it a second. “I’m talking about fu-" 

“I know what you’re talking about.” Tim sounds strained, but to his credit he doesn’t play stupid. “Look, it was a _lot_ of money, and it was, uh - Moxxi,” he admits quietly.

Of course it was. Jack props his hands behind his head. ““You never could say no to her, could you?”

“You said you didn’t mind me moonlighting.” Tim sounds like he’s feeling his way forward in the dark, unsure where the trap is, and Jack grins out at the moon. 

“ _Mind_ ,” Jack scoffs. “What I _mind_ is having to jerk it to a shitty ECHO-net broadcast.” Tim makes a strangled sound but Jack talks right over him. “I want the real thing, high definition, live and in person. Whaddya say, c’mon, Tim, baby: you and Wilhelm, my place, Friday night?” Tim’s breathing hitches at the sound of his own name and Jack’s grin deepens. Tim’s always been sensitive about the name thing; but if that doesn’t sway him, Jack knows what will. 

“I’ll pay you double what she offered you,” he says when the silence stretches out for a long minute. 

Tim sighs. “Triple,” he says, but there’s a note of resignation in there means Jack has him. “Triple, and you have to _ask_ Wilhelm, not tell him.”

“Timothy,” Jack purrs, just to hear Tim’s breath catch again. “Your implication hurts me, it really does. See you Friday at eight. Wear something I’ll like.” He hangs up before Tim can say another word.

Wilhelm is more straightforward. Sort of.

“No.”

“I’ll double what Moxxi paid you.”

“...deal.” Jack grins and goes to end the call, but before he can Wilhelm clears his throat.

“Have you asked Timothy yet?” Jack’s never heard him sound so hesitant. Jack frowns.

“Yeah, and he held out for triple; you could take some negotiating tips from him, big guy. See you Friday.” Jack ends the call and pulls his earpiece off, tossing it on the desk behind him. He can hear it skitter across and off the other side. 

Odd. Timothy doesn’t tell people his name. None of them do.

Ah well. Saves Jack the trouble of pretending not to know it.

* * *

Wilhelm arrives promptly at 8:00 pm on Friday. Tim is a few minutes late, but apparently he’d taken Jack’s instruction about clothes to heart; his hair has been carefully gelled and he’s wearing slim jeans, Jack’s favorite yellow sweater, and his old vault hunting boots. Jack eyes them with mixed envy and regret; they look so good on him but CEOing has taken more out him than he’d expected and his feet aren’t what they used to be. He’s glad Tim’s wearing them, though. Tim always did know him best. For that, Jack lets him choose between the bed or the floor.

“Floor,” Tim says, smiling crookedly when Jack raises his eyebrows. “The carpets are plenty thick in here.”

Jack shrugs, a smile curving his lips as he pours himself a drink. The amber liquid rolls gently in the glass as he settles into the chair by the window. “Your call, pumpkin. Let’s get this show on the road, though, how ‘bout it?” 

Tim smiles but he looks like he’s rolling his eyes internally; when he turns to Wilhelm, though, and the big man’s hands settle on Tim’s hips, his smile turns softer, more private for a moment before he leans up and presses their mouths together. Tim’s eyes slip closed as he opens his mouth to Wilhelm’s, leaning up and into Wilhelm’s broad chest as those large hands settle on his ass. Wilhelm pulls Tim flush against him and Tim makes a startled, pleased noise into Wilhelm’s mouth even as he shifts his legs wider, hands pressed against Wilhelm’s chest as he grinds their hips together.

It’s a nice show, but it would be better naked. “Clothes,” Jack calls as he leans back, spreading his legs wide in the chair. Tim breaks the kiss to shoot him an annoyed look, but his hands go to the hem of his shirt without further prompting, and Wilhelm steps back to do to the same as Tim’s sweater hits the floor.

Jack whistles as Wilhelm drops his pants and underwear. “God _damn,_ you had that in you? I’m amazed you can still walk.” Wilhelm preens.

“ _Jack_ ,” Tim says warningly, but the effect is ruined by the flush spreading across his cheeks and down his chest, and the way he bites his lip when he looks at Wilhelm, fiddling with the button on his own pants.

“ _Tim_ ,” Jack mimics, taking another drink. “Come on, don’t be shy. Pants.” Tim slants a sideways look at him and peels down his own jeans, and _hello_ \- looks like someone went commando. Jack approves.

Wilhelm gives Tim another quick kiss before guiding him down to his knees facing Jack, one big arm looped over Tim’s chest while the other fishes in his abandoned clothing. Tim leans back against Wilhelm, taking the bottle Wilhelm hands him and generously coating two of Wilhelm’s fingers with lube. Tim tosses the bottle aside as Wilhelm’s hand disappears behind Tim’s back, then Tim gasps and arches, presumably as Wilhelm presses a finger inside.

Jack doesn’t blame him. Wilhelm’s fingers are _big_.

Jack palms himself gently through his jeans. He wants to draw this out, make it last, but between the whiskey in his veins and the way Tim’s hips jerk as Wilhelm works him open, he already has a pleasant tingle spreading through his limbs. Tim clings to Wilhelm’s arm as Wilhelm adds another finger, and Jack drinks in the stretched lines of Tim’s body, the flex of his thighs and the taut muscles of his stomach, the way his dick swells and fills under Wilhelm’s attention. Jack’s own dick is starting to strain uncomfortably against his pants, so he sets his glass aside and unzips slowly, drawing himself out with the lightest touch he can manage.

Tim’s starting to pant heavily, rocking back onto Wilhelm’s fingers. He makes the barest whine as Wilhelm pulls out, and as Wilhelm repositions himself behind him Tim locks his eyes with Jack’s.

Jack squeezes down on his dick as Wilhelm presses in, caught in the flit of emotions over Tim’s face, there and gone too fast for him to name. Tim’s mouth falls open, and his breath hitches, but his eyes never leave Jack’s, bright with heat and challenge. Wilhelm pulls back and thrusts again, moving Tim’s whole body with the force of it, and Jack’s breath hitches at the noise that pulls from Timothy’s mouth. Wilhelm digs one hand into the soft flesh of Tim’s hip and plants the other more firmly on Tim’s chest, setting a slow, steady rhythm that has Tim’s head tipping back on Wilhelm’s shoulder.

Jack strokes himself in time as Wilhelm picks up the pace, digging his teeth into his lower lip as Wilhelm forces increasingly desperate sounds from Tim’s throat. Wilhelm pulls Timothy close, grinding into his ass, then pushes him down, forcing Tim to catch himself or end up face first in the carpet. Jack groans at the tremble in Tim’s arms, and the sound makes Tim look up. His eyes flick to Jack’s dick and back up, and Jack can read the thought there loud and clear.

“Not what this is about, sweetheart,” Jack murmurs, continuing to stroke himself even as Tim’s brows draw down in confusion. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Tim opens his mouth but whatever he’s about to say is lost as Wilhelm knees his legs apart and grabs his hips again, and the next thrust has Timothy scrabbling at the carpet and sucking in a whimpering breath. Jack braces his feet on the floor and rocks up into his fist as Wilhelm rocks into Timothy, savoring Tim’s low, breathy moans. It seems like too soon before the low tension in his gut mounts, drawing his limbs tight, until it snaps and he comes all over his hand and chest, breath leaving his lungs in a rush. Wilhelm hesitates, glancing up at Jack, and Jack shakes his head even as he collapses back in the chair.

“Don’t stop on my account, kids.” His voice sounds low and gravelly in his ears. “Where’s my big finish? 

Wilhelm grunts, and Jack tips his head back, half closing his eyes as the sound of skin on skin and Tim’s heavy breathing fills the room. Tim moans, and Jack looks back to see Wilhelm reaching around to get a hand on Tim’s dick, hanging flushed and leaking between his legs.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” Jack says. “Initiative.” He stands, careless of his softening cock hanging out of his pants and the mess on his shirt, and moves to crouch in front of Tim. He cups Tim’s chin and tilts it up, making Tim meet his eyes.

“Big finish for me, Timothy, you ready?” He murmurs. Tim’s face twists as Wilhelm’s hand slides on his dick, and then Tim’s eyes are squeezing shut and his mouth is falling open. His body shakes as he comes all over Jack’s imported Eden-6 carpet, and Jack watches him through it, rapt, until Tim blinks hazy eyes open again and meets his gaze. 

Jack grins, rubbing the corner of Tim’s mouth with his thumb, and then lets go and stands. 

“Come on big guy, don’t leave us hanging,” Jack says as he turns away, heading back for his glass. Wilhelm hums a reply and Jack hears a faint squeak from Tim, and it’s not long before Wilhelm’s groaning and holding Tim in place, hips jerking against Tim’s ass. Wilhelm peels a hand away from Tim’s hip and plants it on the floor, hanging his head and breathing for a moment, then shifts back. Tim winces a little as Wilhelm slips out of him, leaning forward and resting on his elbows, but he goes willingly when Wilhelm gathers him up in his arms again. Jack sips his whiskey as Tim leans back against Wilhelm, head pillowed on his shoulder. Tim has the goofiest grin on his face; endorphins will do that to you.

“All right, all right,” Jack says, strolling back over. “Take your cuddle party on the road.” Tim and Wilhelm blink at him in unison, and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Great show, worth every penny, but I need to get some sleep which means that you jokers -” he nudges Tim’s knee with his socked foot. “Need to beat it.”

Timothy and Wilhelm look at him, then at each other, and for a moment Jack almost feels shut out of some private conversation; but then Wilhelm’s helping Tim back up to his feet and they start gathering up clothes. Jack tosses back the last of his drink as Tim pulls his pants up over his hips, wincing a little at the movement, and satisfaction blooms warm in Jack’s stomach. Tim hesitates after he pulls his shirt on, like he’s on the verge of saying something, then shakes his head and follows Wilhelm out the door. Jack puts the tumblr down and stretches, turning toward the bathroom as he starts undoing his own layers.

Worth every penny. He sleeps better than he has in months.

* * *

The next week Jack calls them back again. And again the week after that. He sets up a recurring deposit to Timothy and Wilhelm’s accounts because it’s easier; and why _shouldn’t_ he have this, why shouldn’t he indulge when the opportunity presents itself?

He doesn’t - _indulge_ indulge, though. Like he told Tim the first night, that’s not what this is about. Jack’s not sure what it _is_ about, except that watching Tim and Wilhelm together remind him of fine art, of being in a museum surrounded by priceless things. He doesn’t have an eye for that kind of thing - he lets the price tags do the talking in that department - but he does have an eye for this, for the curve of Tim’s spine as he rides Wilhelm’s dick, and the press of Wilhelm’s fingers into Tim’s skin is as fine as any sculpture. Jack drinks it in, watching from his chair and stroking himself slowly, and while he might get up and trace his fingers down the line of Tim’s spine to see him shiver, or put his hand on Wilhelm’s thigh to feel it flex, he never joins in, chasing his own release from the comfort of the chair or the edge of the bed.

It’s not that he couldn’t, if he wanted to. Tim clearly expects him to, those first few times. But. That’s not what this is about. 

Anyway they’ve got a good thing going, so why disturb the rakk’s nest for no reason by thinking too hard about it? He’s sleeping better than he has in months.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t sometimes bumps in the road.

“ _What_ did you give him.” Timothy whirls on Jack, eyes on fire, one hand still clenched in Wilhelm’s shirt. Behind him, Wilhelm wheezes, face slowly coming down from the blood red it had been a moment ago. “ _Jack._ What did you _do_.”

Jack drains the last of his whiskey, letting the warmth curl through his veins. “Nothing you won’t enjoy, pumpkin.” He tosses Tim the empty Engorge packet and grins when Tim’s eyes widen. “Now strip.”

The package crumples in Tim’s hands, and for a minute Jack thinks Tim might throw it back at him, but then Wilhelm’s hand comes up to grip Tim’s wrist and Tim blows out a breath. He drops the empty package to the ground and releases Wilhelm’s shirt, angrily pulling his own up over his head. He kicks off his boots, shoves down his pants - still no underwear, Jack notes approvingly - and stalks past Jack, towing a glassy-eyed Wilhelm behind him.

“We’re using the bed,” Tim snaps.

Jack grins, smacking Wilhelm’s ass as he passes to see him jump. “Knock yourselves out.”

They nearly do. Tim comes twice before Jack stops keeping count, riding Wilhem’s chemically enhanced dick until his thighs won’t hold him up anymore, muscles jumping and fluttering under the skin. Jack squeezes the base of his own cock as Wilhelm lifts Tim off his dick and rolls them over, arranging Tim on his stomach and pressing back in. The way Tim’s feet flex when Wilhelm bottoms out and the desperate moan he tries to hide in the pillow are everything Jack could have hoped for and he bites his lip, trying to make it last.

He doesn’t last as long as Wilhelm, obviously; but he does hang on until he sees Tim’s body tighten up again, drawn taut with pleasure as his hips jerk against the bed. Tim’s face twists as Wilhelm keeps going, his no-doubt oversensitive cock rubbing against the covers with every thrust. He opens his eyes to glare at Jack and they’re filled with tears; Jack exhales in a rush and comes, dick jerking in his hand as he arches in the chair.

Afterward, when Wilhelm has finally spent himself and collapsed into snores on Tim’s far side, Jack gets up and approaches Tim, lying limp where Wilhelm left him. Jack strokes a gentle hand over the curve of Tim’s reddened ass and down the back of his thigh, watching the muscles shiver and jump. Tim has come leaking down his balls and onto this thighs; he looks thoroughly wrecked and Jack wants to memorize everything about this. No camera or even ECHO-recording could capture the way Tim’s hamstring quivers under Jack’s hand, or the way Tim turns and glares at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“I hate you,” Tim says softly, but there’s no real force behind it, and Jack grins.

Jack moves up toward the head of the bed, bending down so they’re face to face and tracing a thumb through the mess on Tim’s cheeks.

“No, you don’t,” he says just as softly, bringing his thumb up to his mouth to taste. Tim sighs and looks away, but he doesn’t contradict him, and Jack’s smile deepens.

Timothy and Wilhelm end up spending the night; Wilhelm is pretty dead to the world and Tim’s legs aren’t quite working right yet, and it’s just - easier, somehow, to strip the stained top layer off and roll them underneath the covers. Jack shoves Tim into Wilhelm’s snoring bulk to make room as he climbs in, but Tim doesn’t seem to mind, back pressing against Wilhelm’s side like he belongs there. They end up facing each other, blue and green eyes against blue and green, and Jack’s always loved mirrors but this one seems to give back even less than the one over his sink.

Tim snorts. “Go to sleep, Jack.” He pulls the covers up around himself and closes his eyes on a yawn. “Stop thinking so hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Watch it,” Jack warns, but Tim doesn’t respond, breath already evening out into sleep. Jack rolls over on his back, closes his eyes, and lets himself slip under.

* * *

Timothy and Wilhelm stay over more often, after that. It’s - it’s convenient, is what it is, to have them in his bed when he wants them, to have them there when he wakes up in the morning. Jack doesn’t usually sleep well with another person in his bed, let alone two, but somehow Wilhelm’s gentle snoring becomes background noise instead of incredibly irritating, and Tim - well, Tim’s like an extension of himself, right? It’s hard _not_ to feel at ease when Tim’s around. 

Tim is not, however, by any definition a morning person, but even that works out to Jack’s advantage; as much as he enjoys the shows that Tim and Wilhelm put on for him at night he thinks he almost might like the mornings better, Tim’s sleepy grumbles muffled by Jack’s pillows as Wilhelm works him open with gentle fingers. Tim’s always still loose from the night before, so it never takes long before Wilhelm’s rolling Timothy on his side and fucking him awake with slow, careful thrusts. Jack always watches Tim’s face closely, looking for the exact moment Tim’s eyes focus on Jack’s as pleasure washes away sleep. Jack’s own morning wood is easily taken care of with Tim gasping out his release two feet in front of him.

Tim always closes his eyes when he comes, mouth dropping open and eyes screwed shut. Normally that's fine, but today Jack wants to _see_ Timothy, so he reaches over and grabs Tim’s chin.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” Tim struggles to comply, blinking furiously as Wilhelm grinds into him. Wilhelm reaches a hand around and strokes Tim’s dick lazily, and Tim’s eyes go unfocused but he keeps them open, staring somewhere through Jack’s head as he comes with a strangled noise. Jack watches, fascinated, as pleasure chases itself across Tim’s face, and when Tim’s eyes finally flutter closed Jack leans over and presses their lips together.

Tim makes a surprised noise, but he kisses back, and it’s _good_ , it’s so good, why did Jack wait so long to try this.

He rolls over on top of Timothy as Wilhelm pulls back. Jack’s still tangled in the sheets but they’re pressed together from chest to knee, Tim a warm, solid presences underneath him. Jack props himself up so he can see Tim’s face, forearms on either side of his head, but the grin he can feel forming slides off his lips when he gets a look at Tim’s face.

Timothy is looking at him - neutrally. _Extremely_ neutrally. Jack can’t read his face at all, and that’s bullshit, because that’s _his own face._

“Not what this is about, huh?” Tim murmurs. There’s a note in there that says Tim has been expecting this from day one, and how _dare_ he throw that line back in Jack’s face, this wasn’t - it’s not -

Jack slants a look sideways at Wilhelm, who’s wearing the same impassive face Tim is.

Jack looks back down at Timothy, and for a moment he almost goes through with it; almost leans down and bites at that long neck, grinding their hips together until Tim’s gasping underneath him, fucked out and oversensitive. Tim would let him, Jack knows. And Wilhelm wouldn’t stop him.

Instead he rolls off of Tim and throws the covers back, sliding out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

“Time to clear out, kids,” he says, deliberately not looking back. “Some of us have work to do.”

He hears the mattress creak as he shuts the door behind him, and he turns the shower on immediately to drown out any murmured conversation on the other side. He cranks the water up at hot as it will go, and stands under it for a long time, deliberately not thinking about anything at all.

When he comes back out, towel wrapped around his hips, Tim is sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for him. Alone.

Fuck this.

“I am _pretty sure_ I told you to get the hell out,” Jack says, marching right up to the bed. He folds his arms and leans in. “Gotta say, I am not impressed with your listening skills.”

“I’ve been listening.” Jack scowls; what is _that_ supposed to mean? “I’m just not sure we’re speaking the same language.”

Jack opens his mouth but Tim beats him to it. “I don’t - I don’t know what you want from me. And this _is_ about me; you can lie to yourself if you want but don’t fucking lie to me,” he adds as Jack opens his mouth again. “Not about this. Not _now_ .” Jack snaps his mouth shut and grinds his teeth. Is Tim really going to try to make him talk about his _feelings_?

“I just.” Timothy runs a hand through his hair, and if he’s at all uncomfortable being naked in Jack’s bed he’s certainly not showing it. “First it’s no, then it’s yes, then it’s no again; I can’t read your mind, Jack, so _tell me what you want from me._ ”

Tim sounds - angry. Frustrated. And he’s glaring at Jack like he genuinely doesn’t know what Jack wants, which - okay, Jack will give that one to him. He didn’t really really know himself, until this moment, maybe.

Jack uncrosses his arms and plants his hands on either side of Tim’s body. Tim doesn’t lean away, and his breathing doesn’t change - still regular, steady - even as Jack leans forward until their mouths are almost touching.

Timothy doesn’t tense up at all, and that’s its own kind of tell, isn’t it.

“I don’t want anything you don’t want to give,” Jack breathes, and then ghosts his lips over Tim’s. Tim doesn’t react; he doesn’t pull back, but he doesn’t lean into it either, and Jack pulls away.

“Except your undying loyalty, of course,” he continues, turning away to move toward the dresser, pulling the top drawer open and searching for a pair of boxers.  “And you’ve still got about a hundred thousand in student loans, if I recall, so I’m good on that for a while, yeah?” He drops the towel and steps into his underwear, and when he pulls them up and turns back around Tim is looking at him, smiling sadly.

“Yeah,” Tim says gently. “Yeah, you are.”

Jack coughs. “Well. Good. I’m not glad we had this talk, but I’m glad it’s over.” He fishes in the drawer behind him for an extra pair of boxers and throws them at Tim’s face, but Tim catches them out of the air with a laugh.

“There,” Jack says. “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Now, I actually _do_ have work to do today, unlike you slackers, so chop chop, let’s get moving.” Tim slides off the bed, pulling the boxers up over his hips, and Jack scoops the rest of Tim’s clothes off the floor and stuffs them in his arms.

“Let’s go, Daddy’s got to make it to the office on time. My PA quit last week and it’s been a real bitch getting by without her.” He turns Tim around and steers him toward the penthouse entrance, ignoring Tim’s snort.

“I’m amazed you’ve survived this long. Can I at least get dressed first?” Tim sounds like he’s laughing and Jack grins behind him as he maneuvers Tim around furniture.

“Nope,” he says as he palms the door open and shoves Tim through it. “See you around, chickadee.” He winks and grins at Tim’s mock outraged face before the door slams shut between them.

As soon as the door closes, however, the grin fades and Jack leans forward, resting his forehead against the plasteel.

Stupid. This whole thing had been - it had been fun while it lasted, Jack decides. He had been blinded by a pretty face, and who wouldn’t be, really? Tim happens to wear the most handsome face on Helios. Anyone would have fallen for that.

But Jack _doesn’t_ want Tim the way he had sounded in Jack’s bedroom: angry, frustrated, and only going along with Jack out of some sense of obligation. _Tell me what you want from me_ , Tim had said, and he hadn’t meant it in the sense of _tell me because I’m happy to do it._

He had meant, _tell me so I can get this over with_.

And that’s. Not what Jack wants. Not in this. He’s Handsome goddamned Jack; he doesn’t need anyone to fuck him out of _obligation_ . He’s got groupies practically lining the streets of Helios, for christ’s sake; there are plenty of people who would _kill_ for a chance at this dick.

It doesn’t matter that Tim’s not one of them.

Or it won’t. Eventually.

* * *

Jack hadn’t been kidding when he had said that it was tough getting by without his PA. His schedule is in shambles, reports are piling up on his desk, and loader bots turn out to be shit at fetching coffee. On Tuesday he calls Human Resources and threatens to space the whole department if they don’t have a replacement for him by next week. The threat of violence makes him feel a little better.

On Wednesday he stops the recurring deposit to Tim and Wilhelm’s accounts. Instead, he doubles the usual amount and sets up a one-time payment, along with a note: _sessions canceled until further notice_.

He gets two calls from Tim that day, both of which he ignores.

Tim sends him a message on Thursday - _are you ok?_ \- which Jack doesn't deign to respond to. Of course he’s okay. Why wouldn’t he be.

Friday rolls around and suddenly the thought of going home to his empty penthouse suite is - not attractive, so he stays in his office, working until he can’t see straight, and sleeps on the couch. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of this before - it’s extremely convenient, to wake up already _in_ his office, and at least if he’s working he doesn’t have to think.

He’s snoozing on the couch when suddenly the lights snap on, stabbing into his eyeballs, and he snarls as a voice rings out from the entryway.

“Hello? Handsome Jack, sir?” Jack pushes himself up groggily on his elbows as the sound of shoes clatter up the stairs to his desk. “Are you...in…here...”

The voice trails off and Jack blinks bleary eyes at a tall, slender young man paused uncertainly at the top of the stairs. He’s not bad to look at; thick auburn hair, legs for miles, and pouty lips that are nothing like Tim’s.

Jack shakes his head. “What day is it.”

“It’s...Monday, sir.” There’s a pregnant pause, and then, “How long have you been in here?”

Jack swings his legs over the side of the couch and sits up. “None of your business, cupcake.” He feels hungover, although he hasn’t been drinking. He glares up at the interloper when the kid clears his throat.

“Actually - it is my business. As of this morning, at least.” The kid smiles and sticks out his hand, which, Jack is vaguely impressed to note, only shakes a little. “I’m your new PA.”

“My name’s Rhys.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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